


Dum spiro spero.

by procrastinating_hedgehog



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Medicine, Past Child Abuse, Protective Derek, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Stiles Stilinski Smokes, nameton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinating_hedgehog/pseuds/procrastinating_hedgehog
Summary: "While I breathe - I hope"That could be the motto of Stile's life. He tried to look forward, tried to act indifferent to the growing darkness inside him, tried to comprehend the basics of his everyday mishaps. That should've been enough. But somehow good enough was not good enough anymore. And breathing somehow became harder. Stiles just wished for some kind of relief.Derek did not want change. He was completely happy with his life as it was. He made mistakes because of his own idiocy fueled by primal needs. He was better than that. And above all he did not need anyone telling him he was wrong.And while both men planned their future, fate had quite enthralling plans they did not see coming.Or how Stiles learns to live in a whole other world and Derek gets far much more than one could handle in a soulmate.





	1. Prologue

 

Stiles sat alone in his room which like most things in his life ‘ironically’ wasn’t even his to begin with. His heart felt as though it was going to burst right through his sternum as it pumped life through his veins far too fast for his liking. He felt his skin shiver and weirdly enough it didn’t even ‘feel’ like his own skin. As though some kind of latex blanket it was squeezing the living shit out of him. And the breaths he took still tasted as the cigarette he just smoked. It didn’t help this fucking situation at all.

Fuck his life.

Stiles was not stupid. Well if being a medicine student had to say anything about it. He knew what panic attack felt like. Or was it more of an anxiety attack? What the ever-fucking-difference. All in all he felt worse than shit.

He wanted to cry and scream but his own stupid ego would not even allow himself even this little escape from the heavy weight in his ribcage. Now the razors in the little hipster boxes on the window sill where all of his trash (namely medicine and headphones) hid would likely do a good job. The bottle of vodka he gifted Scott would also do quite a job on him. And if he mixed his medicine with the said vodka…

No.

He tried once. Failed miserably. But at least he tried.

He told himself the following morning he was reborn (as cliché as it sounded) that if he died – yay, and if he did not he had no right to give up. So the fucking ego of his would not let him even reach out. Even if he did in fact very much so want so. Even if he desperately wanted to leave this world. Even if he yearned to die.

A fucking medic-to-be should actually be in a psych ward.

What a joke.

But that was just what Stile was - was wasn’t it. A joke to begin with. A hyperactive spazz with no mouth filter. An accident prone and useless waste of air. An ugly piece of white privileged shit to begin whit. Though he liked his moles.

Looking at the worse than the actual Berlin wall ceiling of his dorm he sighted in absolute loneliness. And wasn’t that just worth a line in a depressing sonnet. He should write one. With his life he could write a whole poem.

His heart hurt as hell. Stiles trembled once more as he punched his sternum a couple of times trying to get rid of this painful nausea. He felt like vomiting. Even though the all of his last week food summed up into 2 cups of coffee that he couldn’t even afford and Scott being the ever optimistic puppy he was bought for him. And even though Stiles knew Scott was not better off than him he still took the fucking coffee saying he’d buy it back. Still took the cigarettes from friends he would most likely never pay back for.

It was just that Stiles was so utterly broke both financially and emotionally. It was just that Stiles felt as though he would one day give up and hey no more debts. And wasn’t that just begging to be done with.

He looked at his smashed phone that he had gotten just a month before. 4 am. Great. Another sleepless night.

He took his phone in his hands and started another research to loosen up his nerves. ‘Depression symptoms’. Search. 158 964 results found.

For crying out loud Stiles knew what was going on with him. But something about reading about it made it better. More real. Like he wasn’t imagining. Like he wasn’t pretending. Like he was actually not that bad of a homo sapiens for contemplating suicide while a boy somewhere in Africa drank cow’s blood to survive the 10 km he had to walk to the shade. Nobody most likely told the boy that about 5 km further his cow would be stolen and he was going to be left there bloody on the ground.

So yeah. In a way Stiles was privileged. And in a way he was just as doomed as the boy.

Stiles eyes wandered to the cupboard that held his food in the shared two bed dorm. He knew there was a pack of spaghetti there, but that was for a hard day. A.k.a when he felt like blacking out from starving. He had some oatmeal too but that box was for breakfast. A spoon a morning so he did not black out when he had to bandage a bleeding pus filled wound. Something about the sickingly sweet smell of pus just made his knees week. And again his fucking ego would rather die than walk out from a procedure to get some fresh air.

Stiles was better than that.

He really really was not.

And on nights like these all Stiles wanted was a damned hand to hold. Just eyes to look at rather than a wall. He felt as if a hug, a cuddle was a far too big of a yearning. But God he wanted it. He just wanted to have someone, something - anything to live for. There had to be someone out there, right? He was certainly was not a catch, but there had to be someone who would look at him someday, say ‘hey, why not?’… and then Stiles most likely annoy the heck out of his partner. They would stay though. He’d like to believe that.

A tear slowly clawed its way down his cheek as a shaky breath left his lips. Now wasn’t this just perfect. Crying like a baby instead of facing the problems in his life. And don’t get it wrong he was one. A baby that is. He just rather believed he put up more of a fight against his own self-depreciating…well self.

God how he missed his father.

He missed his mom.

He was oh so tired.

The 21 year old closed his tired eyes and pretended he was somewhere else. He fixed his heavy blanket so it felt as though a person was lying near. And if he made it so that he could be the little spoon no one had to know. He imagined talking to someone. Hearing only promises of a better tomorrow, of how good he was, how brave. And if the voice helping him happened to be deep and masculine well no one had to know that either.

The sun would rise. And so as the sunrays of a new day would wake the world. So would Stiles.

The happy overly hyper about everything, trying to get most out of every second, living the moment Stiles would wake up. Have his one spoon of oatmeal and a full cup of boiling water. Dress up. Read some shit about diagnosis and leave for university. He’d make jokes about himself instead of actually holding up a conversation. Because that was what people liked. They liked to be put up on a pedestal for doing absolutely nothing. And also laughing at Stiles. And Stiles kind of felt better knowing he was making fun of himself rather than someone else doing it for him. He could control the harshness of the words, go around the topics that would open his wounds wide open.

In the end this was just a breakdown. Surely not the first one and most likely not the last one.

 

* * *

 

 

A couple of miles away a man was standing in his flat looking through wall sized windows down onto the city holding a cup of whiskey (shitty one if he had anything to say about it). Derek ran a hand through his hair as he felt the liquid burning his esophagus and tried to shake the sleep away from his mind. There was too much fucking stacks of documents that supposedly could not wait until morning… later.

Running a multi-million dollars of worth company came with responsibility. Fixing his youth mistakes also was a responsible thing to do. And honestly a month lack of sleep was a rain drop in an ocean of shit compared to what could have happened to his family if he had been let to be irresponsible. If he had not listened. If he had continued to fuck that bitch who turned out was actually paid to fake those orgasms.

Sunset bled into the man’s eyes as he felt unexplainable exhaustion run down his spine.

The red that would forever haunt him of his mistakes.

That would also remind the world of his shortcomings and responsibilities.

Kate was just a puppet in her father’s hands to get rid of the growing Hales family that supposedly threatened the humanity in Beacon Hills. Granted she also got rid of his virginity. She was also the one he called his love…what he believed love was. And he made it so simple for her being the dumb down to the book jock that had too much testosterone in his system teenager. It was as though Derek had just grown into his paws and there was a grown independent woman showing interest in him. Understanding the deep secrets of the world a mere human would not.

She had been perfect.

So the possibility to yell that he was getting it on with an older women was very appropriate in the mind of the young Derek Hale. He couldn’t get more than 76% on a math test, but yes banging a twenty-something year old seemed quite probable. Because he had money. Because his family was influential both in the human community and creatures that remained hidden behind the mask of myths. Because he just took his family’s name and used it to get rid of his virginity.

No one blamed him. Everyone made it very clear the following years he went to the psychiatrist since it turns out manipulating a 15 year old has its tolls later in life. Laura still took him by the hand every fucking Christmas eve dinner to have a ‘talk’. His mother still smiled as warmly as before the dreadful night their house that held history of five generations of Hales burned down leaving a ghost in its place. His father still ran every full moon by his side hiding from all of the family. His father would not comment of the first rage periods as he destroyed the forest. Only call Deaton to fix after him. Bring back the life.

And it helped. Don’t get him wrong. Healing felt good. But sometimes it was suffocating.

He was not the victim.

That was what they did not get. They were the victims and Derek was a fucking toy in the hands of another toy.

This Derek Hale understood at the tender age of 17 years old. This is also when Derek made his life goal to take as much as he physically could to pay off his moral debt to his family… to Tim whose favorite bear burned leaving his little brother screaming for following months as he dreamt of the plastic eyes melting into tears. To the Tim that had been forced into his shift at the tender age of 5 screaming in pain and agony.

Now being 32 years old he never felt as though he made a wrong choice anymore. And it was enough.

Sometimes he felt as though something was missing.  He would rather die than admit it. But wasn’t it in human nature to have everything one would dream for and still feel as though he left something… as though there was supposed to be more of a meaning to life than just plainly working his ass of for the sake of not feeling the ever eating guilt inside his stomach.

Laura made it known as a mate. Derek made his reaction known by spiting the red wine he was drinking on the fucking ‘Merry Christmas’ napkin lying mockingly on the table. It blood red. Just like his ears. Just as painfully slow as his heart tried to slow down and make sense of the conversation.

There was an argument. He left. Hence him working over hours after the said ‘talk’.

It was autumn.

And didn’t that just say enough about his idea on this topic.

Just to be clear. No. Never. Not with his family at stake. Not when he was so easily wrapped around someone’s finger. Not now knowing how many more there were that would instantly do the same. Maybe not to kill his family per se. But let’s be honest he had a lot of money. Money to most meant a free ticket at life. And who didn’t want such pass. Finding a soulmate meant taking a risk again.

He’d rather not.

Derek sighted as he put the empty glass on the cabinet.

He shouldn’t be drinking when working.

Bad things happened from such stupid choices in life. And few would dare to disagree that Derek was anything but responsible.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As awkward as I am at these kind of introductions - Hello. This is my first work on this site after a 4 year break from writing. Why did I stop? Depression, suicide attempt and all that jazz. Plus med school. That one kind of sucks up my life. Why did I start writing again? Well because this story has been bugging me for so long. In a way it is my story, because I do believe that we write best what we have experienced and in what we believe in.
> 
> This story has been growing and polishing itself for nearly 2 years and my fingers just itched to type again. Only to find out I'm rusty as fuck, can't for the life of me find any good synonyms, have a huge difficulty to make a story line flow as I once used to know how. It's like I forgot everything. There is so much I dislike about my current writing style, there is so much space to improve and it's literally bugging me so much.
> 
> Though I am very much determined to start this journey and I do hope someone joins me. Because in a way as many others I do want that criticism, acceptance and growth.
> 
> Anyway, hope you do enjoy my work.
> 
> P.S. English is not my native tongue so I ask you to understand if any mistakes pop up. I try to reread every post at least 3 times, but sometimes your own mistakes pass the author's eyes. (As shitty as this explanation is) Thank you for understanding.


	2. Utinam Ne Illum Numquam Conspexissem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If only I had never seen him."
> 
> Or, in which our main characters meet in a very surprising matter and Derek tries to make any sense of his current life while Stiles takes a rest.

Stiles woke up to the obnoxious sound of his alarm. He tried to press snooze only to remember that he shattered the phone’s screen the day before. He groaned as he turned it off. Laying back down he looked around his dorm only to see his roommate angrily showing his displease to be woken up and rolling onto the other side. Good. Stiles always knew he looked better facing the wall. And really now? Just yesterday Mark had no problem getting up at ass hour in the morning to make himself breakfast. In front his bed. And Stiles did not _fucking mind_ …

Groggily he finally got up and started his day.

Brushing his teeth he groaned at his reflexion in the mirror. His cheekbones just had to make themselves more known hadn’t they? He looked like a freaking rabbit. A starved hyperactive rabbit with the feeling it had been mauled a couple of times. But hey at least he didn’t look as bad as those in ICU. Something about having a plastic tube down your throat seemed oddly not empowering. Not that being fed through the nose did wonders to one’s self esteem either.

As he pushed still to be washed coat into his bag through all of those assignments that had yet to be finished the young man cursed his procrastination skills. He seriously needed to start the paper on children’s’ intubation. And to wash his coat. That thing had this interesting yet disgusting shade of light yellow and looked more like the curtains his aunt had for god knows how many decades. And those blood stains did no wonders to his style.

He still had no idea how he got those.

He seriously had to wash his coat.

Making his way down the hallway he smiled to the cleaner lady. What was her name? Matilda? Well she looked more like a Bertha? She just had this kind of aura that screamed Bertha for some odd reason.

“How’s the day? Lots of cigarettes that didn’t quite reach the bin?”

“Shut up. Your aim is awful too.” She laughed as she slowly bent down to wash the rag.

Charming old lady. Had some problems with respiratory system if the cyanosis in her lips and her wheezing breathing had to say anything about it. Most likely suffered from arthritis also. And as him, had not enough money to feed herself judging the frail frame of hers. 

On that note, walking out of the building Stiles took the longer route to his bus stop as he took one cigarette from his pocket and lit it up. He sat down on the wet bench and puffed a fat cloud of smoke. His friends did not know he had a pack of his own. They most likely wouldn’t share their joints if they knew. But this one was bought with the last money he had painfully gathered from all of his pockets, bags and behind his bed.

This pack was to be saved and loved.

So he put one joint in the pocket every morning. For the nerves.

God he technically had an addiction. But then everyone who drank coffee had also. After all coffee was also a drug.

He still had 15 more cigarettes left. So roughly speaking about 7 to 10 days he would be fine. Then either he drops smoking or finally finds a job that wouldn’t mind giving him only night shifts seeing he was held back in the auditoriums until 5pm. Because yes there is a place that wants a random student telling them how to make up the schedules so the said student could work. Oh you have absolutely no prior experience? No need to worry there are so many companies that are just waiting for such little shit to walk through their doors. Yes. Of course. Very plausible.

Stiles took off his thick framed glasses and let his head fall back as he looked up at the tall buildings of New York. What a city indeed. Nothing like his home. Despite the extremely edited photos in books and magazines, this city was quite overwhelming and yet boring at the same time. It was loud, obnoxious with a probability you might get killed if you walk in on something at the wrong time and the wrong place, but it was still grey with trees surrounded by smog and cement, overly hipster cafe's where you basically sit on piles of wood, but pay 6 dollars for basically a mix of syrups in your coffee and steam heated milk. Somehow Stiles felt this in-explainable sense of reassurance  that his father was most likely getting ready for his shift in the quiet town of Beacon Hills. Just knowing that the biggest worry right now was his cholesterol levels was very calming.

Inhaling the last warm cloud of smoke and letting it out through his lips Stiles thought about life if he had chosen the easy route. What if he had majored law and became a deputy. Would he have felt better? Would he had not fell into this monotony? Would he had forgotten this longing in his heart? This absolute need to get out of here, to leave, to find something he was missing. Stiles just felt out of order, like his pieces did not fit together and there was some kind of explanation for these emotions. He just couldn't get his stupid hyperactive mind around it.

He let his hand fall brushing what was left of his joint into the underside of the bench only to drop it in a near bin. Five points to house Stilinski!

After putting out his cigarette and brushing any stray ashes from his coat the young medic-to-be fixed his hat, put back on the glasses and started to get up only to slowly sit back down in shock.

The actual living fuck was this situation?!

If Stiles had not lifted his eyes in different direction than his destination, he might’ve not seen such an _interesting_ view.

And maybe he would have made his way his usual route to the bus stop. Maybe he would not have been late to pharmacology’s lecture (because everyone were so hyper to be actually sitting there for 3 hours not getting a single fuck the old hag was trying to say). And he might have listened. No. That was taking it a tad bit too far. 

But maybe things would have been oh so different.

However life had other plans for Stiles that day as he lifted his head slowly only to see a man in black creeping by the wall of Starbucks a good couple meters in front of him. All those years of hanging in his father’s office suddenly smashed into his mind completely blocking any sense of clear mind. And some would say that getting caught up it their parent's job was not acceptable at the age of 16. But hey look at him now. Currently he could use this knowledge that was completely irrelevant up until now.

Because a gun. The man was pointing a fucking a gun. And Stiles was frankly speaking so tired of all this shit in his life that he simply did the only thing logical at the said moment.

He sprang into action. (No one said he was smart).

He dropped down to his fours and crawled slowly behind a bush. Taking in the position of the creeper, it was very clear this one was a professional. His hand held the gun strongly his finger on the trigger. But he wasn’t aiming yet. So what was he waiting for?

And was that a bow?!

Didn’t that kind of loose it’s usage a couple of centuries ago?

Robin hood much?

Quickly taking in his surrounding Stiles only saw one car (indeed out of place by the sheer worth of it. That most likely cost more than his kidney god damn). It was quite early so it seemed the city had not woken up enough to actually function. No one around. How does that even make sense?! This was NY for fucks sake! Where were the random tourists getting lost? Not even a homeless cat… Stiles quickly crawled further until he reached the corner of the building.

But really…Starbucks?! Someone’s head is about to be busted into million because of a cup of over priced espresso?! Finally having more leverage for moving Stiles stood up waiting for any type of sound. He took a breath and as silently as he could dashed around the building. Stopped and let himself stand flat against the wall. Shit he was so too old for this kind of stress and physical activity. Stiles slowly crunched down and tried to look around the corner. He tried to make out the man’s face only to understand that of course he did not know him. Hearing a distant murmur and a shuffling Stiles took off…

A lot of things happened at once.

Hitting face first into something solid. Most likely a male’s chest. The burning sense and overwhelming smell of coffee that dripped down his hair. A slight bang that was quickly overpowered by some kind of traffic sirens (either very well planned or so damn lucky). A lot of hushed shouting. Huh, was that thing? Swearing also took place judging the atmosphere. Loud footsteps that disappeared as fast as they appeared. 

A warmth deep inside his shoulder that slowly spread down his arm.

Strong hands holding him in place as his feet gave up.

Stiles tried to make sense of everything as he blinked only to feel the overpowering need to vomit. So he did. On the chest of the person that was holding him. Great.

“Tough morning, huh?” he tried to spit out into the huge chest. It most likely came out as nonsense but hey at least he tried.

All he got in response was a grunt. Which rude. He was quite sure he saved the man and no thank you.

“A man of few wo….you have pretty eyes” because they were. Very pretty. Red with flecks of orange that moved in waves burning away the green that was there before and oh…

Needless to say Stiles blacked out.

At that moment having his hands full of a stranger Derek growled at the poor excuse of a hunter running away into the morning fog. Fucker.

His wolf was agitated the least. It was crawling behind his skin begging to be let out. Howling inside him with the need to rip apart, to destroy and eliminate the hunter from this earth. So he could never again hurt this body, because yes… of course he’d find his soulmate in the body of a gangly young man.

And of course his mate would likely bleed to death on their first meeting.

He looked at Boyd who chased away the menace and finally took into account the boy in his hands. He tried to hoist him up to no avail. He was bleeding what looked like his left shoulder.

Shit.

Okay.

Still dazzled by the feeling of new bonds forming Derek looked at the limp body in his hands panicking. What was he supposed to do? Hospital? No. How was he supposed to explain the shooting and what smelled like a wolfsbane bullet? Plus he didn’t feel like the whining wolf inside him forgotten for so many years would even let him let go. He took in his surroundings. Besides the calm beating of the cashier’s heart it seemed quiet enough. So he threw (as gently as he could taking into account the fact he was rushing) the young man into the back seat of the car.

“Boyd!” he called out in distress as he raked his clawed hands through his hair pulling a bit trying to make out any sense from the past five minutes. His hands trembled as he looked at them colored by his mate’s blood

Mate. Shit shit shit shit

His Beta showed up in an instant cleaning his bloody mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“Killed him?” even his voice was shaky and groggy. 

“No. Though he doesn’t have three fingers anymore if I counted correctly. Is he yo-?” Boyd looked through the backseat window in interest.

“Really not the time. Drive. I really can’t control myself at the moment. My flat. Call Deaton.” He spat out tossing the keys as he jumped into the back of the car. He quickly let the boy down onto his knees and spaced out instantly. He tried to press into the wound. It was not big. Nothing for a werewolf. But that’s the problem wasn’t it? His mate happened to be not a wolf.

God Derek needed to howl, to scream, to let the whole world know his distress so the earth shook beneath his feet. His wolf seemed to go array in emotions. No one could blame him for wolfing out once behind the dark windows of his Camaro. No could blame him for loosing focus of everything around him.

You see that was not how meeting a mate should be…

It was to be a meet of eyes, a small talk, instinctual attraction that was buried until the right time to blow up into emotions that would bind two souls forever.

Well there was a blow up in emotions granted not one would expect from a first meeting.

Feeling a halting stop Derek held by his primary instincts snapped at the hand that had opened the car’s door and tried to reach his boy.

His?! Great this was going way too fast.

“Down boy. Shoo. Or help me get him in” He hated how Laura was always right.

“Where’s Deaton?” Derek grunted as he took the young man into his hands. He ran into the apartment complex through the back door. Stopped for a second. Listened for any sound. And ran up the emergency exit stairs. Their footsteps echoed against the dark walls as the stairs went on and on to the top floor.

“On his way. Traffic.”

Derek didn’t try to keep up the conversation. He halted by the door to the lobby as Laura made way. Waited behind a corner as he watched her punch the pin code to his room. Once the door was open he sprinted to his flat. Finally there he made his way to his room laid the boy on his bed and watched his white bed sheets bleed red. Laura was there in instant ripping apart the corner of the sheet and pressing it into the wound.

Derek had never wanted to bite off is sister's arm like at the current moment.

Biting back his anger he took the cold hand of the boy and let his veins bleed black. The werewolf hissed as the first wave of pain creeped up his arm to his heart and then flamed up to his shoulder.

“Spill out the details” His sister said as she smiled in a very sly manner even though it was clear she was also affected by the situation.  “Told you needed a partner.” She let herself laugh brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“I am not discussing this.”

“You so are. My lil’ brother got himself a mate. And he even took a bullet for you. Romantic” she continued to laugh.

“Are you even understanding the situation?! He’s bleeding!” He growled out letting his eyes bleed red. This was really not a time for a family small-talk. Derek was in no way near in a position he could actually keep up with a conversation. Wrong move and his wolf could decide he had more than enough and actually go feral. Was he the only one getting it?!

“He was shot in a shoulder. Deaton is on his way. I can hear him in the lobby, brother. The bullet is still in so it most likely is blocking some of the flow. I too have some strength in my hands. Everything will be okay.” She whispered in sympathy. Only to have Derek growl at her.

Deaton rushed in and without a word pushed away Laura. He took one look at Derek “Either close your eyes or have them wrapped. I will not have you interrupting me.”

And Derek did. He couldn’t for the life of his even control his wolf right now. This was not discussable. He felt her sisters warm hands against his ears as she put in his headphones and turned on his workout playlist. He opened his eyes only to show his displease and closed them again.

He never let go of the cold hand in his. Feeling the stinging pain felt refreshing and awakening.

Letting his mind free he fell back to the moments before. To the amber eyes. Back to the voice. He let the fate do its’ magic and finally let himself experience the bonds forming, intervine and attach themselves forever. He felt his heart adapting its’ rhythm to his mate’s. From now on he could distinguish it in any crowd, from now he knew he’d hear it when miles apart. From now on he’d know when the owner of the heartbeat would be in joy or in pain.

He took his mate’s smell. Behind the stench of copper laid forest after rain, hot coffee and freshly cut wood. And the heavy smell of cigarettes. And never in his life Derek had thought he’d come to adore this combination. But he felt like there was nothing that could compare to this. This man felt like home. Like his burnt home back in Beacon Hills and somehow that did not hurt. It grounded him. Like his mate was not there to help forget like everyone around him were trying, but to actually remind of his own history until this meeting. Like everything was there for a reason.

Because his reason seemed to take a form of malnourished (to a big displease of his wolf) young man.

Turns out he never did have a chance with women to begin with.

And what he believed in before seemed to dull in the actual feeling of this. Whatever ‘this’ was.

Kate now felt like insult thrown at the actual bond.

And Derek knew he was forever doomed to follow this human. To forever help, protect and be near in any way or form. There was just nothing he could do. He will show his capability and worth. The human will decide what he wants.

Derek hissed as a white pain ran down his veins.

He felt divided. Here he was an hour ago having well planned life, paying off his mistakes being sure of fate and the possibility of actually refusing what now felt simply not possible. And now actually sitting on the floor holding a hand whose owner he still knew nothing about he was going against everything he believed the last decade without even trying to put on a fight. For all he knew this man could be a moron.

Derek was snapped back into reality by the headphones being all but ripped out of his ears. He looked up only to see his sister smiling sweetly which was a very odd look on her altogether. Silently she unwrapped his fingers from the hand, letting her own veins bleed black. She hissed and took a gulp of air too fast for Derek’s liking. After all she was his sister. Even though he kind of hated her. In a not really but really kind of way.

“He’s stable. I have a problem with a couple of a whole different issues though. Mind if we have a chat.” Deaton stated as he finished bandaging the wound.

Taking one last look at the boy he met the stern eyes of his sister. After all she was not part of his pack. She was an alpha to be for their mother's pack. Theoretically she was a potential challenger. His wolf was displeased with this change of events. And even though Derek knew he could trust her, everything was so new right now. The bond felt so raw. It felt unnatural to leave his room.

But he did.

Mind often played a bigger part in his life than his heart these days, so going against his will wasn't as hard.

Closing the door behind him he was shocked to see his pack sitting in the living room. They all sprang to their feet trying to understand anything from Derek’s face. He just let himself touch the backs of their necks as he followed Deaton to his office. They were worried. How much time has passed? Should he explain right now or... “Later. Eat something.” He whispered tiredly. Flashing his eyes for a second to let them understand he was serious about the eating part.

Hearing Erica bark out a laugh felt refreshing.

Once in the study he made his way to the oversized window.

“Whiskey?” he asked in politeness though he knew the answer.

“I’d rather not. By the looks of it you should finish the whole bottle. The laced one. The one you shouldn’t have if I remember correctly.” The emissary of his mother’s joked.

Derek chukled “Don’t think I could swallow water now, doctor.”

“I’m a vet, Derek. You forget.” he heard a displeased mutter behind him. The young alpha sighted and let his forehead drop against the cold window. He could still see Deaton from the corners of his eyes.

“Will the boy be alright? No after affects?” Derek was really not up to chatting about the titles right now.

Deaton’s face fell into the unreadable stoic he used when discussing something he didn’t want to take sides on.

Fuck.

Instantly pulling himself up, he stared at Deaton impatiently waiting for some answers.

“Derek, I’m not sure how to put this… hell I don’t know where you found him. But the boy is not human. I’m not entirely sure as to what he is, but he is not human. He has too much power inside him. The room is suffocating in it. It’s unused whatever his magic is. It’s inside him burning, stocking up. And that’s far worse than any bullet.” Deaton took a breath “Imagine blowing a balloon. It gets bigger and bigger. It adapts its’ form to the air inside…until it can’t.”

Derek felt cold sweat trickle down his forehead.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic or to play a part in your tragic love story. I’m telling you this because magic like this does not leave quietly. If the boy bursts - it will take most of the city with him. Do not get me wrong I am not as much concerned for him as I am for the very fact that you have a ticking bomb in your bed that could end in tragedy for the balance between humanity and the supernatural.”

“What do you want me to do? I just met him.” He grunted out. Trying to put the facts in order. Trying to remember any tales his grandmother had told him before going to bed. “He didn’t seem as a berserk druid on a killing spree.” He added in annoyance. He felt as though he shouldn’t stand up against the vet for his mate. He just didn’t want to believe that the fate would give him a maniac for a mate.

He wasn’t that unlucky, was he?

“I did not say that.” Deaton sighted pinching the bridge of his nose “The boy most likely didn’t know he even was capable of anything more than any other human was. Many magic holders finish their lives not knowing their capability. You know that, Derek. Your mother has thought you better than this. What I do not understand why is he in this position.” Derek sank further into the armchair as he looked straight into Derek’s eyes. “Something is very wrong here. Something inside him has been blocking the natural flow of power. And I’m talking years, Derek. Years.”

 “So we get rid of it.” The Alpha bit back.

“To get rid of something, first and foremost one should know what that ‘ _something_ ’ is.” Deaton said.

“I never liked you.”

“That’s why you have your own pack.” Deaton laughed. “I will look into his history, medical records. You get him to talk. We’ll go from there. I’ll be back tomorrow. Do not call me if he is not dying” the vet said as he stood up bidding his goodbye. “Ah, your mother is coming for a visit.”

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there,
> 
> so I am really not sure how this got so similar and yet in a way so very different from the wonderful author's J.K.Rowling "Fantastic Beast and where to find them", but it did. I adored the life out of that movie, so I am very intrigued to try and adapt it to my story line. Though it is different. The whole reasoning might be similar, but the dealing, understanding and the whole point of the plot is not the same. For me this shut down of power is introductory to the whole story. I'm more intrigued by the healing process and understanding why, rather than finding out who.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter.
> 
> P.S. I'll try to update before Chrismas (a.k.a. next week)


	3. Inter Spem et Metum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Between hope and fear"
> 
> Or, in which Stiles is sure he is insane, but makes a temporary friend.

Stiles was floating. There was no other way to describe it. Floating without any feel of weight. Just him. And darkness. Lots of it. It kind of made him sick. Well nauseous the least. He was alone. He felt it in his skin. In his blood. In his heart.

Where was he?

Why was he here?

 _“Who are you?”_ a small familiar voice asked.

Stiles jolted up in shock. Not so lonely after all. Turning around to the voice he trashed a bit in desperation to acknowledge the owner of the said voice. He’d rather have company here.

Illuminated by dim light against an oak laid a small frame. Trying to make his way to the oasis Stiles found that instead of floating he was actually lying on grass _. Weird._ Just moments ago he could’ve sworn he was surrounded by absolute darkness. Stiles hated the darkness. He knew what it looked like so he was more than sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Slowly getting up much to the discomfort of his body he made his way to the tree. The further he walked the more trees grew around him. Just like that. Like freaking flowers bursting up in the meadow.

“Where am I?” he whispered looking around. It looked like daytime, but there was no source of light except the huge oak itself.

What looked like a boy lifted his head tiredly _“I asked you first. Who are you?”_ Of course the random and only human being lying by a fucking glowing tree would sass him. Because why the ever living fuck no?! Stiles took a step forward _“Who are you!?”_ the boy shouted as he let his head fall sideways towards Stiles. Though the older of the two had to admit the sound of it was quite pathetic. Weak and raspy. Stiles took a couple steps closer.

Okay.

Well…okay.

“By the looks of it I am… well you. And you are hurt” and fuck him sideways if that didn’t just play with his brain. Here in most likely a dream laid a younger version of him who was quite bruised and messed up. The young Stiles laid against the tree looking up at the leaves as he caressed one of the branches that hung low. He was shivering and panting in small breaths as though sitting there was taking up all of his energy. His feet were a dangerous color of blue and his eyes were dull of any emotion. Bruises and cuts ran down his arms.

Somehow seeing himself like this hurt more than his shoulder.

Wait, why did his shoulder hurt?

 _“You don’t look peachy either_ ” the boy whispered giving a small smile to the leaves. Which felt oddly rude.

“You kind of forgot to look at me on that one.” Stiles grumbled feeling like he could finally walk freely closer to the younger himself.

 _“I don’t need my eyes to know your heart. I am you after all. And we are two parts of a whole”_ the boy whispered as the tree actually lifted one branch to caress the younger one’s face. Now Stiles was not against it or anything. It was just so fucking creepy. A tree petting a human. Is he drunk? Or maybe he’s dead? Oh this will devastate his father. How the hell did he get himself dead?!

Oh. Yeah.

A moron that what he was. An idiot who turns out was actually not going to finish medicine at all.

Great.

Perfect. Just perfect.

_“You are not dead. Going in that direction, but not quite there yet.”_

“Could you at least pretend to be not reading my mind?!”

 _“I do not read minds. I’m not capable of that. I’m you. It is quite normal for me to sense my own pain and emotions. To answer what you did not ask – we are actually inside of you”_ the boy said with a sad smile lifting his head up.

Instantly hundreds and hundreds of photos appeared hanging from the old oak’s branches. Ones were vivid other dull. Some were crumbled and others looked like kept carefully. They were hanging by a mere string and looking up carefully there could be seen some strings without anything attached, just a string ripped apart.

_“These are your memories. This is our history. Because of me you are alive.”_

“Again with the abstract. Peachy.” Stiles muttered pinching his arm. Trying to make any sense at all. The heck was this day. He hated sleep paralysis.

Because that was what this was surely. His mind just woke up earlier than his body so he could freely function mentally but was still in dream land. He had those often. This was the first time he was still in a dream and not desperately trying to flex his fingers to wake up. But hey this had to be the only logical explanation for whatever bizarre situation he was experiencing at the moment.

Because come on – he was talking to a dying younger version of him in a magical forest with a glowing oak that was _still fucking petting the kid!_

 _“I’m as real as you are, yet you lived a life where I couldn’t be part of you.”_ His ‘other’-self croaked in what looked like desperation.

“Not to be a party-pooper, but I’m studying medicine. I’m pretty sure my memories are stored in my brain which might come as a surprise to you, but is made out of neurons. And I’m 99 percent sure there’s no glowing tree with photos on strings and a lying half dead boy in my head either!” Stiles barked out.

Seriously. A. Glowing. Tree.

_“Świętomierz, I am sorry for I could not protect you and keep you alive at the same time to have you wander so far from your name’s meaning.”_

“How do you know my name?” he muttered perplexed.

As far as Stiles knew the only one’s knowing his actual name had been his father and mother. Also his grandfather who had named him as his last wish. His grandfather had died at the same moment he was born, so naturally his father in honor of his own father had named his firstborn that atrocity. It had turned out Stiles would be the only one born in that family.

 _“You forget it is my name too.”_ The kid muttered. _“Take a look around you. Look at these memories. Touch them. Remember if you wish.”_

“I’d rather not.” Came an instinctive reply from the older. Because as sure of himself as Stiles was, the situation still crept the life out of him. “Not to be rude or anything, but your friend seems very fond of you. Wouldn’t want to intrude your moment and all…”

The boy laughed.

But in a way that causes a heart break. Like a laugh that bubbles up when you’re on the verge of tears and there’s this burning lump in your throat and your nose is stuffed with unshed tears. Like a laugh that comes from a desperate situation where one is either hysterical or gave up hope.

“Okay okay, I’ll look at them, but no touchy feeling is going to happen. I like my sanity intact.” He whispered and walked around not really focusing. Nothing really stood out actually. Sure there were things he saw that irked him in different ways: some left that itch near his heart that was similar to when he would have anxiety, others lifted the corners of his mouth just ever so slightly. True to the boy’s word he knew every single of the pictures. It was as if they were caught by his perspective, his eyes. A moment to cherish or despise forever in a small piece of paper on a string.

That was until his eyes met other a pair of eyes in a crumbled photo hung near the trunk of the oak. It hung low just beside the younger him. Needless to say Stiles froze up as he tried to tear away his gaze. He couldn’t.

Well he rather wouldn’t.

Because those eyes belonged to a wonderful yet destructive woman.

Because _those_ were the very eyes he’d look back at; his own full of unshed tears, his back straight and muscles tense an trembling as he’d take hit after hit, slap after slap demanding for more.

Because of those  _fucking eyes_ he could not function properly, could not live a day without despising himself, without doubting his existence meaning, without hating the very last fiber of his being, without getting through a week without any panic attacks or sleepless nights staring at his freaking ceiling.

Because those eyes belonged to a woman he too loved more than anything in the world, for whom he’d die for if it mattered, whom in the very end of the day was the reason he existed to begin with. For goodness sake he’d sell his soul if he had to even if those were the irises that left him empty.

_Those eyes belonged to his late mother._

This was not a game anymore. He did not want this. He did not like this. He hated this! He wanted to get out. He did not need this. He had to wake up! This was too much! Even for his own subconscious state!

Stiles bit into his own palm as hard as he could feeling a foul copper taste.

This was not real god dammit!

 _“Relax.”_ The voice whispered.

Stiles snapped his neck to the boy against the oak. Looking from this angle he felt his knees buckle at the sight of the boy. Because how could he not get it the moment he saw him. How could he not have understood seeing the first few moments that all of the bruises, all of the blood was actually his.

He scrambled on his fours desperately closer and sat on his knees in front of himself. Carefully with trembling fingers he touched the cut corner of the lip and instantly felt as though electricity had passed through the nerves of his arm slowly itching his spine up to his brain making him open his eyes he did not notice were closed.

He stood in front of his father this time. A younger version of him. A much angrier than he’d like to admit to strangers. He could easily pinpoint the exact date of this very moment. He and his father had just been left alone by his mother's death. Father was having a hard time acknowledging that fact and so after two weeks of giving himself up to work he’d finally hit his own breaking point.

Stiles remembers making dinner that must have been not up to the wishes of his father. And now Stiles understands why. He gets how a fresh heartbroken widow with ill management issues and a creeping depression would simply snap at anyone after hours and hours of not eating, socializing or even accepting reality. A couple of shots did not help as one would think it would. Now, when Stiles feels as though he matured, he understand why a man who lost the very meaning of his life would lose it over anything really. At that moment Stiles was just at wrong place and moment.

Of course he had only good intentions making those damned scrambled eggs for dinner. At the age of 7 he knew nothing more than that. Of course he made a huge mess of the kitchen. He had ADHD for crying out loud! His mother had just died after a long and draining battle, his father had immersed himself into work. And well… everyone kind of forgot he kind of was still there. So they kind of forgot he needed his medication to function properly as a result. That caused a fresh bouquet of whole other problems.

The main one being Stiles himself.

He didn’t want to be a nuisance really. So he tried to make himself known to his father by helping him cope. He really felt as though it would help. He had no ill intentions that night. As his father hit him he felt no remorse really. He did not understand why actually he got hit then. He now understood. He’d go back and slap himself for every shortcoming himself, but at that time it just struck something so deep inside him. It left him so vulnerable yet it kind of made sense.

He did something to offend his father. He misbehaved. He got punished. Mother used to do it all the time.

And while it hurt so much. He stood there face void of emotion as his heart felt like ripping into pieces. With that huge suffocating lump in his throat Stiles looked up at his father. Apologized. Looked at the disappearing back as his dad scrambled out the door Stiles now recognized as shame. After a few minutes of his own silent sniffling he rubbed his eyes raw with little fists. Stood up from where he’d fallen from the impact. Fixed his shirt. It was one punch really. He’d had worse.

Father was hurting too.

He misbehaved.

Repeating that mantra inside his head Stiles gather the eggs and water from the table. Threw the scrambled eggs out. And started cleaning the mess he made. He’d lick the corner of his mouth ever so often only to feel that copper taste that’d remind him as to why it hurt below his heart.

And even if deep down Stiles understood it was not fair, even if he wanted to run to his bed and cry, even though he felt as though he was so very hopeless – he finished what he should have done in the first place. He cleaned up. Washed himself up. And laid down.

That night he heard his father stumble into the kitchen. He heard his desperate wail. He felt his presence as he silently crept into his room. He did not show he was very much awake as the strong smell of spirit abused his nose when his dad pushed hair out of his eyes. He just counted to three in between every breath.

He believed his father when he apologized. He forgave instantly.

And even if events continued to repeat themselves time after time Stiles simply absorbed everything like a sponge.

In the end he had found his own ill coping mechanisms.

“ _Don’t cry. It’s over.”_ A sad voice muttered.

The older slowly felt his surrounding morph back to the previous forest. Only to see he was still touching the corner of the boys mouth. Snatching away his hand he touched his own corner to check for any marks. None. Only dampness from what clearly was his own tears.

“Who _are_ you?” he whispered back desperately. Why was this happening? What was happening? Why now?

  _“I am you. You told me that yourself.”_ The boy smiled _“Ask me what you really want to know_.” The younger sighted dejectedly looking up only to smile at some of the branches.

“What am I?” Stiles whispered finally accepting this…whatever this was.

 _“A dulling light of hope.“_ the younger answered. Which again made no sense.

“And the tree?”

 _“Nice company.”_ He laughed weakly. Patting his lap. _“Lie down I feel this will take a while.”_ The kid smiled gently letting his own head rest against a branch that bent down to accommodate him.

“Why are you not healing?” Stiles asked as he crawled next to the younger him and slowly minding the wounded shoulder rested his head on the boy’s lap. The kid hissed in what surely must have been pain. Stiles on the other hand whined in sympathy.

_“Because you are not healing either.”_

“What was that supposed to mean?” the older muttered offended by the idea somehow. He looked up at the pictures hanging on the strings. He’d rather not have an answer to that one really.

“ _Do not ask me questions you know very well the answers to. Even worse do not lie to your own self.”_

“So basically instead of human I’m something else. Damaged, but something else. And somehow my history has the answer.”

_“Smart aren’t you. It’s good to know you can very well repeat sentences.”_

“Okay. Still a smart ass, aren’t you? Next one. Why are we talking now? Why not earlier? Or even better – later?”

_“Because I cannot help you anymore. Our light is fading. I cannot be part of you when you do not acknowledge me. To put this simply we have met the crossroad: one side leads to destruction and void while the other leads to painful acceptance and unknown. I cannot choose this for you. I can merely inform you. This part of you, me , was blocked because of ill events of your life. Along the way a part of you was ripped apart, thus creating me, and you were molded into something you were not born to be. Without knowing your roots you could not act on your instinct anymore.”_

“The fuck are you talking about.”

 _“A spark. That’s what you are. A descendant from Elpis, the spirit of Hope itself, also. A spark that hid inside your grandfather and now rests in you. The moment you were born it hid in you as your grand father drew his last breath. Our light only shines when we believe, but you’re losing it aren’t you. Take responsibility.”_ The boy continued to explain as if that was plainly obvious.

Which mind him was really really not.

“But why? Why me? What’s the purpose of this thing? The fuck I should do?!”

_“Live.”_

“Why?! I’m nothing special. So I die. Go to someone other. Let them live! Hell I’m sure they’ll do an even better job.”

“ _It’s not that simple, but in a way it is actually really very logical. As long as the one holding the spark is alive the spirit of hope is still lingering somewhere. But the spark cannot be passed. It has to grow and prosper until it is finally ready to be reborn. Just like a phoenix. Simple really if you think about it.”_

“You contradicted yourself on that one.”

 _“Imagine if one day all the children in the world die. Every single one of them. With no possibility of ever another child to be born. What would happen?”_ the younger one sighted in annoyance. Well at least Stiles was not the only one.

“The human race would be doomed to be extinct.”

_“Yes. But what would happen to Santa Claus?”_

“What?!” the heck did he want now. Stiles was starting to believe he was schizophrenic now. How a deep conversation about the will to live ended on this note?

_“Or the tooth fairy? Or the Easter rabbit?”_

“You are absolutely not making any sense. What does that have anything in common with the possibility of the whole mankind disappearing from the surface of the Earth?”

_“Think about it. Really, who are these figures meant for?”_

“Well of course children, but wha-“

_“But if there are none of them doesn’t that mean the belief of something special, something often thought as part of childhood vanishes too? It is really the same with our kind. Especially you. For you to die and take away this spark with you without letting it to continue to exist, aren’t you taking away hope from humanity and with it bringing a possible end to mankind. A slow one, but surely fatal. Aren’t you being selfish after thousands of men throughout the history held it only to pass it to the next generation?”_

“This really makes no sense. How can one person hold the future of the whole human race?” Stiles felt dizzy. This was too much. He felt as though he was slowly getting insane trying to comprehend the situation.

“ _Don’t get full of yourself now. There are many sparks throughout the world. Ones protect the nature. Others, like you are descendants of some kind of spirit. Many live their life not knowing their purpose, but they are fortunate enough to have a life that lets the spark fully grow just by existing. You were not fortunate as some. Unlucky I’ say.”_

“Great.” Stiles muttered closing his eyes. “So what’s the verdict? What should I do with all this?” he gestured with his healthy arm to the oak that slapped his hand with a slim branch. “Hey that hurts!” Stiles took a breath and looked back into the eyes of himself. “I’m guessing there’s no ‘Spark 101’ or ‘How not to disappoint humanity for dummies’, is there?”

The younger one smiled. _“Not really”_

“I really don’t like you.”

“I guessed that much. But you won’t be seeing me anymore. You’re on your own now. Try not to fail too much.” The boy laughed as he slowly began to glow. “This will hurt” he said with a smile as he morphed into as small blue ball of what appeared to be flames.

And suddenly felt the flames envelop him while the blue burned its’ way through the ribcage into his heart.

Stiles screamed in raw pain all at once feeling something hot as lava run through his veins into what felt every cell of his body.

He yelled and cried ant let go of any restraint. It felt as though he was falling and drowning all at the same time.

He needed air.

Gasping he sprang up only to feel softness around him and a dull ache of what surely was the worst experience of his life. He continued to pant falling back into softness he was surrounded by. Stiles had never in his life felt so out of breath. Yet he never felt so alive either.

As though he was an electric bubble ready to explode.

Like he needed to explode.

Something inside him was overflowing and irking him in a very nauseating way.

“I need you to calm down. Please if you may.” A voice interrupted his inner monologue.

Stiles had never snapped his eyes open this fast in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there,  
> Happy New Year. I really do hope it's a better one. No, seriously this one sucked so hard for me. You have no idea.  
> To be honest I really hate this chapter. Have rewritten it four times. Believe me this is one of the better attempts. I had this vivid idea and once I try to put it into words it feels as though there is either no word for it or [mostly] I'm too stupid. Like I could draw the scenery but to put it into words is such a hell. Hate it. Tried to reread it. Only felt cringe worthy.  
> Still I am a sucker for a plot line. I just need it. And for me this is is kind of a part of explanation as to why Stiles is a spark. I don't know. I just couldn't write a chapter where he wakes up and someone else explains it.  
> maybe it is just me.  
> Anyway, I am very sorry for falling short on my promise to update before Christmas. University is hell.  
> Hope to hear from you soon. I'll try my best to update either on the weekend or next weel  
> See you


	4. longissimus dies cito conditur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Even the longest day soon ends."
> 
> Or, in which important talks are made in very dire circumstances.

To say that Derek was not ready to talk to his mother at that particular moment might have been the underestimation of the year. Really having another alpha in his house, a place that his wolf considered a den, was like walking on breaking ice. About few hours ago he found his mate. The same time ago the same mate _got shot_ right in his arms. Now it turns out that _the same fucking mate_ is about to pop into thin air taking a few hundred thousand people with him.

His wolf was agitated.

And everyone around him were playing with fire.

Having another alpha here, a possible rival was simply unacceptable to his wolf. Sure the other alpha was his mother, sure Laura was not even one yet, but no one took into account how the situation was out of the lines of normality. Derek had far better control of his wolf than any of his betas, but he also has been neglecting this part of him for so long he’s not even sure what or how to operate. He was just so shaken and in the lost about everything.

He wanted to give in to the wolf inside him. It would be so easy. Let loose of the reins, give in to the pull, lift his head, howl and let his wolf decide what should come next. But that also meant he’d be running around dueling every single asshole trying to get closer than ten meters to where his mate laid. To where, what seemed to be a pile of bones for a boy, laid a bomb that was completely unaware to situation at hand. The boy who came like a lightning in front of him this morning just so he could bleed on him.

With those brown eyes that had specs of gold inside.

A shudder ran down his spine.

“Ahm.” His mother’s voice let itself be known by all but pulling Derek outside the depths of his memories. The ends of his neck hair raised as he breathed out deeply trying to calm down. He hadn’t felt the presence of his mother’s wolf this strongly before. It felt like a pulse in the back of his head, slowly throbbing down his neck and sliding down his spine as to let every single nerve in the young alpha’s body be electrified, ready for the shift. Huh. Must be because of the raw bond still forming. His wolf was very unpleased as Derek thought it would be.

“Can I come in, Derek” his mother asked. It was only for the show. To let another alpha know she was not here to challenge him in any way. It was only politeness either way. Derek was posing, head hung low, looking only through his eyelashes while his chest was puffed open ready for any type of advance. Which was stupid really if one would think about it. Chest might be one of the most vulnerable spots to let be attacked. But many new alphas felt the need to pounce around like morons. It was an instinct that lost its’ purpose centuries ago. Talia knew more than anything that her son would never feel the need to do this kind of show in his childhood home. The same went for any other day in this household. Any other day but today.

“Just a second. Please. “ she watched her own son fist his clawed hands as he tried to rein his wolf back into submission. Blood trickled down Derek’s hands as he finally let the red bleed out of his eyes. He stood up acknowledging her wolf, wiped the palms of his hands into the pants he’d been wearing and smiled sadly. “Sorry. This is very… Today has been hectic.”

His mother laughed. She always wished for a day when his oldest son would be finally freed from the ill memories of the past. Of course it was hard to watch her son suffer through this, but it was no secret that Derek had some very ill management issues. So it came as no surprise neither for his betas, nor his family that Derek would be trying to find a way to eat himself up even on the joyous occasion this was supposed to be.

“I’d say. I get a call from no other than Boyd asking me how to handle you. That’s a first if I had to say so myself. Since birth you’ve been so well incontrol. It was quite surprising. But Derek you must understand this is no one’s fault. Actually it’s considered a blessing.” Talia spoke softly but as always with an aura of finality. “This is what Laura has been bugging you about for years. I heard from Deaton that the boy turned out to be _unique._ “ Derek winced from his spot on the armchair letting the palm of his hands dig into his eyes. Talia continued “But isn’t it for the better? Your pack has no emissary. Maybe he has a role already in your family. Maybe Laura’s words had more truth in themselves. I’m sure he was the last piece you needed to forg-“

“Don’t even mention her!” his voice boomed in his study. Sure he now had a mate, but this talk…this conversation should’ve been over the first time. Kate was not to be mentioned again. And more so near the boy. He did not need another reminder how his life just made huge flip. He did not need knowing that in a span of about five hours he was forced to change his own views he polished for a decade now. By what?! Fate?! Life?! Mother Nature? And more than anything he just didn’t want his boy to find about this so soon. It was shaming.

Derek looked up at his mother only to see her claws elongated and eyes bleeding red. Only then he felt his own claws brush against the fabric of the armchair. He felt his ears fill up with blood as he took in his position. Chest puffed like a fucking peacock, clawed hands, mouth full of canines. Willing the flame in his eyes down, he bent his head slightly. His wolf would not let him submit for protecting his own den, but an apology was in order after the behavior of a teenage just presented alpha. He was better than that.

“Derek Anthony Hale you are to never again to perform this kind of spectacle again. I’m your mother, not some bulk or challenger. I come here in support.” She said in authority. “I’m sure this situation is very _unexpected_ for you, but think about the boy on the bed. How do you think he’s going to take in everything? While his mate is acting like a dog in a rut? For goodness sake… Son, I’m sure you’re a mess right now. You look like one either way, but as a mate your job is to stand by and show support.” His mother sighted. “Not _this_.” She showed her displease by lifting her hands up and down.

“It’s not like I don’t understand. But there’s too much. Everything’s blurring and buzzing at the same time. I find a mate and he gets himself injured the same moment thinking that he’d be a better shield than me. Me! The one with the inhuman capibilities! And of course it turns out he’s a self-destructive magic creature of some sorts.” Derek punched his desk. “How can I comfort a fucking bomb on my bed? He’s injured one moment and the next one he’s about to die from underusing his power that even Deaton doesn’t comprehend. Tell me mother is this how you met father?! Is this how you bonded?! Is this the magic Laura was spewing nonsense about?! Because all in all I just feel insane.” Derek muttered in defense. Everything felt like a buzz under his skin. He felt like ripping something apart. Preferably the fucking hunter who hit the human.  

Talia sighted in sympathy.

“Derek, just because you met your mate in a very unorthodox way, you cannot go questioning the fate. Just because one does not like some kind of events it doesn’t change them. It also does not change our history. The Hales had their ups and downs for centuries before Ka-“

“Can you not mention that bitch?!”

“Language.” Talia clicked her tongue in annoyance. This talk was taking far too long. Derek was not this dense. Maybe in denial. Surely in denial, but not dense. “Please let me speak. Otherwise I’ll make you listen. As I said Kate was not the first to try something radical against us. I’m more than well aware that she’s not the last. Take into account today’s events.” His mother was quick to interrupt this time. She walked slowly, her head down. Any other day it would bring shame to Derek to see his mom so adapting … so reverent. She was an alpha with a bigger pack, with much more power and knowledge. She was also his _mother_. Bowing was like this was unacceptable in their world.

“Derek, I love you. Your family loves you. Your pack adores you. You have so many people that are only trying to look out for you. The same applies for your mate from today onwards.” Talia sat down on the arm rest next to her son. Just like old times she took his head into her arms and began softly caressing his hair. Derek couldn’t help but let his head fall into those warm hands. It seemed to suck every worry out of his system, just like squeezing a sponge. Derek needed this.

If Derek would be the one to do this to his mate, would that help the boy also?

The spike of a heart beat did not go unnoticed by the older alpha.

“Oh, so it’s about the boy after all. You want to be next to him. Then I should not hold you back any longer. I think I got my point across.” She whispered with a smile as she got a glimpse of those traitorous ears of her son’s that would always be a telltale whenever the kids would have caused trouble. “It is not something to be ashamed of, son. You can’t imagine what others would give for a chance like this. Do not waste it.”

Derek grunted.

Well everything was back to normal.

Suddenly a smell of ozone abused her nose. It all but ripped a growl from her. Talia was not surprised to see the back of her son disappearing into the lobby. She took a deep breath through her mouth, composed herself and smoothed out any wrinkles on her suit. Lazily Talia made her way to her son’s bedroom where Laura and Boyd were holding Derek against the wall. Laura had a good hold onto Derek’s neck, and surprisingly it made Talia very assured of her choice in the future alpha of her pack. To go against an alpha like this took not only courage, but sheer audacity in the first place. Talia was proud.

Talia was also concerned with what was happening in the room.

She was surrounded by trees growing at random places, their roots having no place to hide but on the ground where _of course_ patches of grass started to form. It did not help that Derek’s pack most likely were witnessing magic for the first time and having them poking at the said trees was not helping the situation at hand.

“Isaac if you even dare to touch another plant in this room…” she challenged.

“But it’s so cool” the young beta finished only to have every pair of eyes look at him disapprovingly.

“Or maybe not.” A pause followed. Everyone herd the slight jump of the hearbeat as the young beta lied. “What?! Come on there’s trees in Derek’s room.” Isaac muttered dejectedly.

Derek growled in discontentment.

The boy laying on the bed, on the other hand, took his opportunity to all but spring up and scream out in what seemed like pain. Or most likely agony. Seeing her daughter having an even harder time holding back her brother and pushing him even more against the wall her forehead damp with sweat and canines elongated, gave Talia a good understanding that they hadn’t had lots of time before her son would let go of his wolf. Derek trashed in his spot not taking any of this. He was about to bite Laura when Talia had about enough of everything.

“I need you to calm down. Please if you may.” She asked in exasperation. It was meant for everybody in the room, but the boy was first to react.

Utter silence followed.

Stiles sat in shock. He took his time to look around and take in his surroundings. He was in a bloody bed. Literally. The bed sheets were bloody. There were leaves on the white sheets also. Which – weird. The voice belonged what looked a very irritated woman with a migraine. Glad he’s not the only one. Though he had to admit despite the exhausted voice, the woman seemed to radiating authority and finality. Stiles kind of low key was scared of her. Well of what she could do. He let his eyes continue roaming the room. It was oddly white for a bedroom. Lots of space. Not many things besides a bed and other necessities Stiles had no interest to pinpoint. There were people looking at him like he was a fucking animal in the zoo waiting to pet him. And…

Oh.

There was that dude he tried to save from a fucking creep with a bow. The same one with the pretty eyes. That were still red. Also was currently being what looked like strangled to death to a wall by a woman and a man. One of which seemed familiar.

Oh fuck no.

Nope.

He was hoping everything was a dream.

A very bizarre realistic-but-not dream.

He was so over this shit.

He felt his heart accelerate when he ripped his eyes away from the flaming ones. Because they looked like flames. Like burning into his soul. And that felt far too intrusive than it should have been. Of course the big bad grumpy man had claws. Because why the hell not? And those pixie ears? Also pretty.

“Where the fuck are your eyebrows dude?” he asked incredulously, because what the fuck?! Who loses their eyebrows?! Apart of being part of your face, they also had an anatomical meaning in protecting one’s eyes from sweat and dust and shit. Also it seemed a waste to lose something like those caterpillars. They were interesting.

“You are worried about his eyebrows?!” the boy in a scarf asked angling his head sideways. Like a dog who couldn’t quite understand the meaning of the command or some kind of high frequency sound. Still looked awkward though. The boy, the action seemed to suit him. The scarf was just an atrocity all together. “Not these bad boys?” he asked with a smirk as his eyes flashed in gold.

Oh he could do that too.

“Isaac!”

“I swear to everything you own I will kill you!”

“Could you not!”

All of them seemed to roar in unison. The creepy part was that nobody saw him actually do that. Nobody actually took the time to even turn their heads in Isaac’s direction. It’s like they felt it. Euch. Telepathy?

“Well I saw his already do that.” Stiles muttered pointing to the red eyes. “That’s an old trick” he whispered. And while everything seemed so beyond anything he’d ever dreamed or imagined. It was still not as shaking as his encounter with whatever the younger him was. And while he’d wished everything before was a dream, the lingering pain throughout his body and mostly his chest, the fact that he was surrounded by the same trees he had just absorbed made quite a disagreement. That sounded cliché. “Why are you strangling him, though?” he asked warily pointing with his chin at the dark and grumpy. With the red eyes he could turn on and off turns out.

And claws.

And pointy ears.

Was that fur on his jaw?

Cool.

Terrifying, but hey he just met a younger self in a dream to find him he should be protecting himself from himself to hold onto humanity’s hope that came in a form of spark whatever the hell a spark was. He was nowhere near a place to judge. So cool. Now if his heart could stop over beating behind his ribcage that would seriously make his day.

And answers. He’d like those too.

“Derek here is being a bad boy. So we’re trying to make him behave before meeting you.” The girl strangling Derek (weird name, but his was an atrocity of letters so who was he to judge) smiled sweetly at him. Oddly enough it seemed intimidating. Stiles was not going to even attempt to get on her bad side. He was fine with his neck arteries and consciousness intact.

“Good to know?” that was supposed to be a snarky statement. Stiles felt that somehow his body was still pretty much scared. Or felt like it should be. His mind on the other hand found everything around him oddly interesting. After such a long time of dullness and everyday greyness this was finally a splash of color. He was not letting this one go.

He was about to ask why was Derek the only one having a problem with him, he _was_ the one who took a bullet for the man, when he felt a poking or rather pinching sensation on his forearm.

Now the only thing he was sure of was that indeed all the people besides him was at the far end of the room, but dragging his gaze to the side he saw that Isaac (that was his name right, scarf boy was Isaac, right?) was having a blast trying to make a wand out of one of the leaves of his trees. Stiles remembered himself doing so during his own childhood. He still tended to do so when he was bored or had an axiety attack. Made him grounded in a way.

Wait a minute.

His tree?! Great now he felt one with the nature. Achievement unlocked. Woohoo. Now if the scarf boy _could just stop_.

And surely the branch slapped Isaacs fingers quickly only to go back to being motionless the next moment.

Stiles felt oddly proud of the plant.

That tree should have a name. Something sassy. He liked it.

“Why would you do that?” Isaac mumbled

“You were getting on my nerves. Plus I’m sure the tree didn’t like it either.” Stiles did not wait for scarf boy to continue. “I’m not sure I did this, but the pinching had to stop.”

“You felt that?!” he asked as if he was stunned. Because having random magical eyes was typically normal, but hey a tree that shared feelings with Stiles was a taboo.

“What kind of name is Stiles?”

“What is a Stiles?”

“I wouldn’t call it a taboo.”

All of them exclaimed together.

“For the record, that was meant to stay in my head.” Stiles muttered looking down in his lap. He felt a warm hand on his head and a dip of the mattress as a feminine figure sat down next to him.

“Oh dear, don’t be shy now. I’m Talia, Derek’s mother. Derek is currently being held down becau-“the woman was cut shortly by the dark and grumpy freeing out of the human cage he was in and growling softly. Which Stiles did not know was a thing. To growl softly. But today was so enlightening and full of new questions he never knew existed besides fairy tales and myths, so he just made himself comfortable for the show.

“I will take it from here.” Derek whispered in a rush. “Everyone should go. Now. Leave.” And surely enough everyone did. Just like that. Talia gave a kiss on the forehead for her son, the woman who was just strangling Derek hugged out whatever the problem they had before and others just simply went ahead and just patted any place not occupied by others.

“Bye, lover boy.”

“See ya, tree guru.” Could he hate the scarf boy this early in meeting? Stiles went ahead and let himself this one time.

“Till next time, Romeos.” The sweet but deadly girl sang only to make Derek spit out air in a coughing fit.

“Would you shut up, Laura!” the still red-eyed man grumbled all but ripping his hair with one arm.

Soon enough there was just Stiles and Derek in the room.

And trees.

“Guess you don’t know how to make them disappear” Derek asked motioning towards the plants.

“Not the slightest idea, but I’m guessing they weren’t here before.” Stiles answered as he fell a bit back onto the pillows. He felt tired though. And who could blame him. Laying down he must’ve put his arm in a difficult position, because soon enough pain shot down his shoulder to his spine. Right. He got shot earlier.

Derek took whatever sign Stiles had shown and sat on the ground beside him.

“Ooookay, not sure if I’m very fine with this.” Stiles muttered as the older of the two took his hand. “Dude, no. Bad. Stop. Oh. No. Keep on whatever you’re up to. Very good.”

“Do you ever stop speaking?” Derek grunted out. He had felt worse pain before, but the boy, _Stiles_ , was making it really hard for him to concentrate.

“Nope.” The younger answered happily looking around the room then finally just looking at the dark and grumpy. The man still had fur on his jaw and all the sharp-y stuff that came with the eyes he guessed. “Can you switch it off like scarf boy?”

This got Stiles a smirk from Derek and a muffled “Hey!” from behind the doors.

“Nice ears. Guessing comes with the eyes?”

Derek gulped. He wanted to get it over with as fast as he could. Like ripping a band aid he made himself comfortable on the floor and looked at those amber eyes. “It comes with being a werewolf.”

“Huh?” a throaty sound instantly climbed out of Stiles as he tried to accept that this was now his reality.

“Werewolves.” Derek repeated as though he thought the younger hadn’t heard the first time. Both of them knew it was not the case. “Claws, eyes and other inhuman features.”

“I heard you the first time. Still doesn’t answer where your eyebrows went, though.” Stiles answered. Because. Come. On.

“What?!” Derek spat out incredulously “Why are you taking this so easily!” it sounded as an accusation rather than a question.

“Well at the moment you’re making the pain go away with your super powe-“

“Not super powers.”

“Whatever. I’m sure if you wanted to kill me, I’d been long dead. I had the worst dream experience of my life only to get burned by it _only_ to wake up to a bunch of what turns out to be werewolves. I know I should be scared, but I’m not. Just tired. But above everything, I’m curious.” Stiles kept talking as he laid back down, this time on his side, so the intervened hands would not be broken apart. He liked whatever mumbo jumbo magic was happening that currently acted as local anesthesia. “Dude your veins are black!” Stiles whispered in shock as he tried to rip his hand the hell away. Derek apparently was not having it as he gripped the smaller arm harder.

“Don’t call me a dude.” Great and he was grumpy about it.

“Your arm is literally is going through necrosis. I’m not allowed to amputate anything, yet.” Stiles answered astonished.

“It’s the effects of me taking the pain. My arm will not fall off.” still a man of few words.

“And the eyebrows?”

“What’s with you and th-“ Derek sighted. He took control of his shift and let the red bleed out of his eyes. When he opened them again he was met with a very astonished boy. His mate.

“Dude, you’ve got back your eyebrows!”

Derek heard the cackling laughter of his sister who was still in his home. This was his life now.

"Go to sleep. I'll answer everything tomorrow." Derek mumbled letting his head fall backwards on his bed hand still gripping his mates. There was still so much to talk about. Derek was tired just thinking about it.

"No, dude, I need answers." the voice beside him slurred in annoyance.

"You need sleep. I need sleep. Tomorrow." Derek answered dejectedly. Why did the boy have to be this persistent? "And don't call me dude." 

A yawn was all the answer he got. Derek smirked as he closed his eyes.

"Promise?" a small voice, so completely different from the snarky he was oddly used to by now, made itself be known. Something inside young alpha's stomach churned as his wolf perked up in worry.

"Promise."

"This is not a dream, right?" the same small uncertain voice asked "I'm not insane, right?"

"No, Stiles, this is not a dream."

Derek did not know if this was a good or bad thing.

So he just let the pain slowly snake down his arms as he tried to breathe intact to his mate's breaths. Soon enough he felt himself fall into deep and very needed slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there,  
> Kept my word. Updated in a week. Don't get used to it.  
> Should I be studying? Yes. Am I doing? Nope. Will I pass the upcoming exam? I hope so.  
> On the other hand, I'm so glad I'm finished with the 'talks'. I love writing dialogue, but this one was quite challenging, because I tried [most likely failed] to not make it a cliche. I didn't want it to be washed over, but I still was against making it into a panic attack. I just wanted it to be as close as I thought the characters would react. I don't know. I for myself have anxiety, but I don't go having panic attacks every time I'm scared. I feel it should be the same for Stiles. I don't know, but sometimes I feel that people who do not have this type of mental issues have this ill opinion that someone who is prone to panic attacks has them every time something scary happens. I cannot speak for others, but for me seemingly a harmless joke or conversation can shake me up far worse than any type of accident. That's what sucks for the most part, but you learn to distinguish the indications of an upcoming attack.   
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this [whatever this was]. It's awesome to hear from you and your stories. I really do hope this fic is either helping you to deal with something or simply is a nice way to pass time.  
> See you.


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